Flick Your Cigarette and Kiss Me
by Hannelore-Grace
Summary: Molly works a late night at the lab with Sherlock. Pre-John.


They had been in the morgue and lab together all night, Sherlock's head bent low over various pieces of equipment while Molly ran hither and thither to retrieve pipettes and beakers and coffee for him. Molly, however, didn't have much to do when not running errands for Sherlock, and had therefore spent most of the night perched on a stool nearby, watching intently while Sherlock ran his tests. She knew he didn't need her, knew that she was essentially useless to the investigation, but still she sat near him, her eyelids drooping and mind becoming heavy as the night stretched on.

Realizing that she was beginning to nod off, Molly jerked her head up and blinked into the flourescent lights above. They cast a harsh glow on everything in the room causing everything beneath them to appear washed out and drained of life. They seemed to have the converse effect on Sherlock, however. While they drained his skin of any of the pink tones it had while in the sunlight, the overall effect only enhanced his other-worldliness, making the stark contrast of his dark hair and alabaster skin all the more appealing. The light threw his cheekbones into sharper relief, like a marble sculpture in the afternoon glow. And his lips...

Oh, the light worked magic on his lips. His mouth was already an object of Molly's deepest fascination, but tonight something about them was making her lean towards him ever so slightly, her own lips parting as if to mold themselves around Sherlock's. When he was dripping fluid into a dish, they formed a little bow, a bow which Molly wanted to untie with her tongue and relace with her teeth. When he was leaned back in thought, his fingertips pressed beneath his chin, they broke apart, exposing just a hint of the soft inner flesh of his lower lip. Her breath slowed as she imagined sweeping her tongue across that tender skin, of tasting every corner of his mouth, of slowly savoring the crush of his lips against hers.

It would be a dance, a quiet waltz on the edge of a precipice. Their mouths would press together so sweetly the sensation would make them lose their footing, and she would hang over the edge for one blissful moment, her toes touching nothing but clouds and wind. Then he would pull her back over, wrapping her into his arms and spinning her mouth back against his own. They would weave a tapestry between them, the story of their harmony spun into glimmering fabric. It would be quiet as a bird song, but powerful as a ballad.

"Molly?"

She jerked herself out of her fantasy, blinking owlishly into Sherlock's grey eyes. "Yes?"

"I'm going out for a smoke." He rose and collected his coat and scarf, twining the fabric around his neck such that it looked careless and yet impeccable.

"I'll go with you."

"You don't smoke." He looked at her somewhat curiously, one eyebrow raised as if she were a lab rat displaying unexpected behavior.

"No, but I'm afraid I'll nod off if I sit in here alone."

"Then you'd best come along. I'll need you later to help look for traces of poisoning on the victim's body."

"Right." She followed him out into the cold night air, tucking her hands firmly in her coat pockets to protect them against the bitter cold. Sherlock's hands appeared perfectly accustomed to the frigid conditions, expertly working a cigarette out of the pack and lighting it with a single flick of his lighter.

Molly watched as the embers of the cigarette caused shadows to flicker across his face, smears of orange and black warring over the planes of his features. She stared with something akin to rapture as his lips curled around the flimsy cigarette and sucked against the paper. He gave a low groan of pleasure as the smoke filled his lungs, holding it there before exhaling it with a gentle sigh. His lips formed a soft O as he breathed the smoke into the night air, the steam of his breath and the tobacco alike blending together and rising in a gentle plume from that precious mouth. His tongue darted out momentarily to moisten his lips before he brought the cigarette back up to his mouth for a second drag.

Molly gave a shaky sigh as her mind whirled through the many possibilities now crowding every processing center she had available. She knew what she wanted, if only she were brave enough to take it. She wasn't particularly bold; she never had been, but the night was intoxicating her, filling her with a sort of wonder and hope she had never experienced before. Her breath stuttered in her chest as she took a cautious step forward. He didn't step away from her, merely leaned against the brick wall and let his head rest backwards and eyes fall closed as he took another drag off the cigarette. Surely this was an invitation, him exposing his neck so openly and vulnerably to her. Surely he knew how she coveted that soft expanse of skin, daydreaming endlessly about burying her lips against it and marking him as her own.

Her hands shook as she reached for him, fingers curling unsteadily into the lapels of his coat. She gripped the fabric tightly, using it to pull herself to her toes so she could level her mouth with his own. He looked down at her curiously, his eyes alight with something akin to fascination. She hovered just on the edge of contact, slowly inhaling a scent that was distinctly Sherlock before allowing her lips to brush against his. The gentle caress of their mouths quickly became more firm as they sought more contact with one another. Molly deepened the kiss, stroking the tip of her tongue over his lower lip before sliding it into his mouth to tangle with his own. She sucked in his flavor, now tinged with the taste of smoke which only complimented the underlying dryness that was Sherlock. She devoured all she could, taking whatever he gave her until he finally broke the kiss apart with a soft exclamation.

"Molly," he held her by her shoulders, smiling broadly at her as if he had just been given the most brilliant gift.

"Sherlock," she smiled hesitantly back up at him, her chest still thrumming with the wings of far too many butterflies. "That was..."

"Wonderful! Brilliant, actually. I don't know why I didn't think of it." He had now pushed himself away from the wall and was crushing his cigarette out against the pavement with the sole of his shoe. "Of course, it's so simple! Clearly, the evidence of the poisoning have been hidden by the victim's lipstick. Genius, absolutely genius. Magnificent, absolutely magnificent."

And with that he disappeared back into the lab.

"Yes, it was..." Molly murmured, gently placing her fingertips to her lips. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still smell the scent of his jacket on her fingers, still taste his mouth on the tip of her tongue.


End file.
